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The doctor had warned her that she needed to sleep as often as possible, to rest and recuperate. Whoever had attacked her, for whatever reason, had been strong. Strong enough that the blows to her thighs as she fought him had gone incredibly deep, not to mention the hold that had left the prints of his fingers in her flesh.
Her breasts were still so tender she couldn’t bear a bra, and her ribs ached. She hadn’t simply been groped roughly, she’d been struck, gloved fists striking her body as she fought and screamed.
Forcing the memory back wasn’t easy. The pain medication made it harder to do. It was one of the reasons she hated taking it.
“Come on, you’re falling asleep where you’re sitting,” John announced as he rose from his chair and collected her dishes. “You need to rest. ”
It was the middle of the morning and she would probably end up sleeping the day away. She hated doing that. The sun was bright, it was warm and clear, and the breeze off the water was invigorating. She would have loved to be able to lie out on the upper deck and soak up the healing rays of the sun.
“Come on, darlin’. ” Sierra’s chest clenched at the gentle sound of his voice as he moved to her chair as though he were going to carry her again.
“I wish everyone would just stop trying to tote me around like a damned newborn. ” Rising from the chair gingerly, she took a deep breath and would have glared at him if her eyes didn’t feel so heavy
. “I’m sore, not broken. ”
She hated feeling helpless, and she couldn’t afford to be in his arms again. Being in his arms meant feeling the strength of them, the warmth of them, and remembering too clearly what she had almost had.
“You worry me with your stubbornness, Sierra,” he growled, but he didn’t try to pick her up. Instead he stayed close until she moved for the couch. “Try to lie down on that couch, and I’m going to carry you straight up those stairs anyway. I told you. You’re sleeping with me. ”
He hadn’t had a nickel’s worth of sleep since his father had called the day before. He’d lain awake most of the night imagining the horror she must have felt the night she was attacked. It had kept him from sleeping, kept him from enjoying the peace of the summer night.
He wanted her in his arms. Hell, he’d nearly driven to Boston and simply picked her up rather than waiting for his sister to deliver her.
“I’m calling your father,” she muttered, but she turned and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to tell him you’ve turned into a bully. ”
“He’ll understand completely,” he assured her, his lips almost twitching at the little feminine snort of displeasure that she gave him.
She made it up the stairs, but by time she walked into the luxurious bedroom, it was obvious she was more exhausted than before.
“Strip. ” He could see her intent to lie down in that bed fully clothed.
Moving to the larger-than-king-sized bed, he pulled back the comforter and sheets then turned and looked at her once again.
She was staring at him with wounded gray eyes.
“Why, John?” she sighed. “What does it matter?”
“Because some bastard dared to abuse what I consider mine,” he snarled, surprising himself with the vehemence in his tone. “I want to see what he did, Sierra. I want to know so that when I get my hands on him, I’ll know exactly what I owe him. ”
Sierra stared back at him, some hidden, previously unknown part of her soul beginning to relax. She had known John would never hurt her. He would never let anyone else hurt her, but now it seemed something deeper inside her recognized that as well.
Licking her lips, she gripped the hem of her T-shirt and tried not to wince as she drew it over her head. She wore no bra, nothing to hide the bruises that still marked her flesh.
Her flesh marked easily; it always had. And bruises remained for what seemed like forever on her skin. Two weeks, and the black and blue marks still looked almost fresh.
She ignored John, refusing to look into his face as she toed her sneakers from her feet and then slid her jeans from her hips and down her legs.
She wore panties, but the soft, pale cream silk was little protection.
“Someone’s going to die. ”
The sound of his voice had her gaze jerking to his face. Violet-blue eyes were raging with fury, his expression dark, forbidding, as Sierra felt tears come to her eyes.
“I fought,” she whispered, suddenly shaking, her voice trembling. “You always told me to fight, John. I fought . . . ” She’d fought as hard as she could. She’d screamed, she’d ignored the pain. All she could think was that a stranger was trying to steal from her one of the most vital choices she could make.
“My God! Baby. ” A few steps and he was in front of her, lifting her into his arms despite the fact that she had asked him not to carry her.
He had lifted her, only to lay her carefully on the bed before sitting beside her, his hands gently lifting her arms until they were stretched above her head.
